Gemotions

She stared at the canvas, the vibrant hues of her latest abstract painting now marred by a thick, uneven streak of crimson paint. Clara’s daughter, Maya, all of five years old, stood beside her, a look of beaming pride on her face, paint-covered hands clasped together. Clara's stomach twisted. She’d dedicated her life to her art. Hours, days, years spent honing her technique, finding her voice. And now it was splattered with a thick, childish brushstroke.

"I helped!" Maya declared, her eyes sparkling. Clara could barely meet her daughter’s gaze.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the side of the easel. Her breath hitched. The air felt thick, difficult to swallow. She had to remain calm. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face strained. "Yes, honey. That's... wonderful."